Roots
by Miriflowers
Summary: AU. It's been a year since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, and Courier Six lives peacefully with Raul in their small repair shop. But after seeing an article in the New Vegas Times involving victims that share her mysterious tattoo, she sets out on a journey to find her past. The problem is, Raul isn't happy that his adopted daughter left him. Neither is Boone. Boone/F!Courier
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The End?

Disclaimer: All people, places, things, and other nouns that are not of my own creation belong to Bethesda and Obsidian Entertainment.

"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep...that have taken hold." – J.R.R. Tolkien

* * *

It had been more than a year since the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. Courier Six had taken on the name Consuela (a name given to her by Raul after he got tired of calling her boss; he said it meant consolation, or something like that) and opened a small mechanic shop that they called "Tejada Repairs." They had set up a cozy life living in the small living space above the shop and spent a good deal of their time together. They hadn't kept in contact with many of the others after Cass had left with the now-reformed Cassidy Caravans, Boone in tow (hired as a bodyguard; said he wanted to keep a lookout for any Legion stragglers). Arcade had left with them to return to NCR territory and be a teacher. She hadn't heard from Veronica since the night after the battle, but Consuela guessed that she was back on the road once again. Even Lily left, to investigate her past. Consuela, too, wished to venture out in search of her past, but since she had no leads and an aging ghoul to look after her, she had decided to resign herself to a peaceful life.

It seemed like a fitting end to a tale like hers. It should have been an end, but for one little hitch in the Courier's careful plan. She didn't know how to lead a normal life. Since she had been dragged out of her grave by Victor, all she had known was life in the Wasteland. She couldn't remember what it was like to be normal. Christ, she didn't even know her real _name_. Every time she would think of leaving to find her past, however, Raul would be right there, reminding her of the life she had made for herself.

It wasn't as though she hated life with Raul, either. He had been a father to her ever since she had busted him out of Utobitha, or whatever the hell that crazy nightkin Tabitha had called her little setup on Black Mountain. They had been through a lot trying to make the Mojave a better place, and she felt like she owed it to him to keep him company for however long she had. Starting the shop had been a blast at first. She loved fixing and making weapons, and Raul made the best food she had ever tasted. But the monotony of the day-to-day city life had finally gotten to her, and after nearly a year of hardly setting a foot out of New Vegas, she was itching for the feel of her Q-35 in her hands and the rough heat of the Mojave beating at her back as she ran around trying to stay alive. Most of all, though, she wanted to know who she was before her memories had been ripped from her so cruelly.

That was what she was thinking about, lying awake in her small room above the shop one night. It was sweltering. A small fan that she had found and fixed worked pitifully to dispel the pervasive heat. Her blankets were clumped at her feet in a small heap, and she had propped her head on her hand in lieu of a pillow in order to stop from overheating. Every few minutes, she would take a sip from the glass on her bedside table. Even then, it was impossible to cool down.

She wondered where she had grown up. Gone to school. Had she even gone to school? She thought she could hear a woman's voice calling out to her in her sleep at times. Was that her mother, or was it simply some illusion her mind had conjured up to fill the space where one should be? It ached to think about, but she couldn't stop. Maybe she had brothers and sisters. She could be a big sister to some kid who would never see her again. Did anyone miss her?

The thoughts and questions kept coming unbidden, unwanted, and irresistible. They teased her, just out of reach. It stung to know that she would be hurting the only family she could rightfully claim if she went after the answers she craved, but not knowing was ripping her apart, slowly but surely.

Suddenly, she wondered if there'd been a boy back home, wherever that was. It seemed reasonable. Consuela wasn't pretty, but there was a certain character to her dark, deep-set eyes that was set off by her thick eyebrows that were made to express the many emotions she played host to. It had come in handy when trying to get her way, something that she had become accustomed to after so long in charge.

She found her mind wandering after that, until she found herself in the midst of an old conversation with Boone (one of very few). It stuck in her memory because it had occurred directly after the whole Bitter Springs fiasco.

_ They sat across the fire from each other, silently chewing on whatever-it-was that she had dug up from the bottom of her pack. The silence hung heavy in the humid air, punctuated only by the sounds the desert made at night. Boone finally stopped trying to make any headway on the rough meal and set his plate on the group beside him. Consuela eyed him warily as she chewed. Aeons seemed to pass before she swallowed, caught up in trying to figure out what was eating him. It was probably better that she didn't know. She would want to talk about it, and he wouldn't. That was the way of things with Boone._

_ She sighed and turned her mind to Raul, who was patiently awaiting their return at the Lucky 38. Her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, remembering the frilly pink apron she had scavenged the other day. It would be priceless to see his expression when she gave it to him upon her return._

_Her train of thought was unexpectedly derailed when Boone spoke. She didn't even catch what he had said, it was so quiet and sudden._

_"Say again?" she asked not unkindly._

_"I said I just realized that I know absolutely nothing about you," he began roughly, but gained confidence and strength as he went on, "but you know nearly everything that's worth knowing about me."_

_ Consuela was surprised by his question, but she supposed it made sense. Even Boone got curious on occasion._

_"You know about as much as I do," she shrugged, after taking a moment to digest the question, "When Victor pulled me out of that grave, I left my past behind. Not by choice, either. Apparently, being shot in the head is an excellent recipe for instant Amnesia."_

_ He said nothing. After waiting a minute for she-didn't-know-what, Consuela went back to attempting to eat her dinner. Silence overtook the desert once again, and she could feel her eyelids begin to droop. Before she could drift off completely, though, he spoke again. His voice sounded rough, and it rattled around a while before I could even make sense of the words._

_"I know it doesn't mean much, but for what it is worth, I hope you find them."_

_ Startled once again, she struggled to respond coherently._

_"Who?"_

_"Your family," he ventured, sounding cold and Boone-like once again "Friends from your past. I don't know."_

_ Consuela smiled genuinely at him, and they locked eyes across the fire. Or at least she thought they locked eyes. She could never tell with those ridiculous shades he wore all the time. Regardless of where his eyes really were in that moment, he looked down right afterwards. Still uncomfortable with people, she supposed._

_"You too," she finally responded, getting his attention once again._

_"But Carla's dead now."_

_ Consuela shook her head. Talking to Boone was like trying to battle a deathclaw armed with a lead pipe and a prayer._

_"What came before Carla?" she asked, trying to prompt more positive thinking. She felt like she was talking to a brick wall._

_"1st Recon," he responded without much interest, "but that's all over with now."_

_ Consuelo weighed her options before choosing her response. On one hand, Boone stubborn was like those oxen she remembered reading about somewhere. On the other, he was an extremely hurt individual who needed someone to work through his baggage with him. She decided to not push it too far._

_"You know, when I first found Raul, he was working as a repairman for some jumped up nightkin in the Black Mountains," she said, not looking directly at Boone, but knowing that she had his rapt attention, she chose her words with care._

_"He was almost ready to give up. Seen more than he figured he had any right to. He may have been right, too, but for whatever reason, he followed me out of that hellhole. Right before we left, I asked him why, and he said it was because I reminded him of someone he used to know. When she was alive, he said that he never really appreciated how much having people around mattered. Gave him a real sense of what it means to be alone after she died, though."_

_ She looked up, then, and stared him down._

_"I can't pretend to know how much it hurts that Carla's dead, but I think you could make it, if you tried. Even if you don't talk to Manny or anyone from 1st Recon again. Right now, you're waiting out a death sentence that no one except you cares anything about. I don't expect you to start healing immediately, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't give up on yourself just yet. You never know what might happen to make life not so shitty again."_

Back in the small room above Tejada Repairs, Consuela smiled. She knew that her words hadn't made much of an effect on the reclusive sniper, but she felt better knowing that she had done what she could. She also realized that she missed the grumpy soldier, oddly enough. He wasn't much for conversation, but after so long on the road together, she had grown fond of him. He'd left with everyone else, though. It was probably for the best; life was pretty boring in Vegas with the NCR calling the shots. Too boring.

By that time, the sun was rising, and rays of light spilled in through her make-shift curtains. Morning brought no reprieve from the heat of the night, and as Consuelo readied herself for another long day, she found herself truly dreading the daily drudgery for the first time. Nevertheless, she forced herself out of her door and into another day in the shop. It was going to be her longest yet.

* * *

**AN:**

**And so it begins.~**

**Ahem. I would like to thank you personally for reading my fic. Even if you don't review or favorite or put this fic on alert, I freally appreciate that you took the time to get to know my character and my story. For that, you deserve more thanks than I can rightly give through a single text document. Again, thank you ****_so much, you perfect person, you_****.**

**Now, onto Consuela's stats:**

S - 6  
P - 7  
E - 2  
C - 7  
I - 9  
A - 6  
L - 3

TAGGED SKILLS: Repair, Energy Weapons, Speech

Hispanic / Tribal

5"2 / 5"3 in combat boots

**Again, thank you for reading this chapter. Hope to see you soon!~**

**-Miriflowers**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: In Which There is a Lot of Filler

Disclaimer: All people, places, things, and other nouns that are not of my own creation belong to Bethesda and Obsidian Entertainment. None of the songs are mine, either.

"There is something more terrible than a hell of suffering-a hell of boredom. " – Victor Hugo, _Les Miserables_

* * *

Even before she entered the kitchen, Consuela could smell whatever delicious concoction Raul had come up with. Driven by her senses, she stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes to rid her of the sleep that clung to them. She almost didn't notice what Raul was wearing.

"Is that-" her question died in its infancy, silenced by a look from the old ghoul.

"Yes, it is," he growled, trying to preserve a bit of his pride, "No, I am not turning soft in my old age. Eat you breakfast, _mija_, or the tortillas will get soggy."

"You eat your tortillas first, _viejo_," Consuela muttered, nibbling at the Brahmin bacon on one side of her plate. Suddenly, she was smacked upside the head by a wooden spoon. She would have dodged it normally, but she was too out of it that morning to do much of anything at all. Feeling the back of her skull tenderly, she muttered about how much of a hard ass her surrogate father was. He heard her and brandished the spoon threateningly at her. She shut up.

Breakfast went on as usual, then. They sat across from each other at their small table, reading part of the same newspaper that was being delivered daily by some new upstart journalist from NCR territory. As far as they knew, it was free, because Raul sure as hell wasn't paying for it. He was pretty miserly when it came to shelling out caps for non-essential things, but they always had enough money for the important things, so she supposed that was what counted. Didn't keep her from grumbling every time she had to pass up the newest plasma technology, though. She heard they were starting to get more accurate.

Taking a sip of her coffee, Consuela nearly scowled. Raul hadn't made it with that spice he bought off the traders like he usually did. She grumbled as she got up to rummage through the cabinets. He continued to read intently, taking bites out of his tortillas periodically. As she sat down again, spice shaker in hand, he seemed to come across a particularly interesting article.

"Hey," he said, motioning to something on the page he was reading, "these poor sons of bitches have tattoos just like yours, Chela."

She looked up from her battle with the shaker. Raul was holding up the article for her to see, but she needed her glasses before she would be able to even make out the picture. Reaching for her pockets, she put them on and was instantly met by the sight of her tattoo. Well, not her own tattoo, obviously, since hers was on the back of her neck. It was an exact replica though; a small sparrow ringed by the motto "Memento Mori." Arcade had found it while patching her up one day. He had said that it was Latin, which had made her suspect that she had ties to the Legion. His translation hadn't set her at ease, either.

_"A reminder of death," Arcade said, continuing to wrap her injured shoulder. Her armor, bloodied and ripped to shreds by the shrapnel, lay in the corner of their make shift shelter. It was times like these that made her really appreciate the fact that Gannon was as gay as they come. Heh. Gay as they come._

_"Do you think I'm Legion?" Consuela asked, voice faltering before she gained back her usual confidence. It didn't matter who she was back then, did it? She was a different person._

_ Arcade didn't answer for a time. He kept wrapping her wounds in silence, lips pursed as he worked. She didn't realize she was shaking until he steadied her. She wanted to blame it on the nighttime chill that was beginning to settle over the desert, but she knew that in reality she was just scared to death that she had anything to do with those murdering jerkoffs other than shooting them down._

_"I don't know," he concluded, gathering up his supplies. Her shoulders slumped, and she cradled her head in her hands, trying desperately not to lose it. She was supposed to be the big bad Courier Six. No weakness, no regrets; living to bring some semblance of order to the godforsaken wasteland._

_ He sat beside her then, petting her short mane of black hair like she was one of those cats that he'd told her about. She didn't cry. Okay. Maybe she cried a little bit. But not enough for it to count as a real cry. She calmed down after a few minutes and pushed it to the back of her mind to process later. It was too much to handle just then. Sniffling a bit, she smiled up at Arcade. He grinned back, affectionately ruffling her hair._

_"You want me to make you something, kid?" he asked, handing her a spare set of clothes he always kept on him. Yet another perk of having a gay best friend._

_"Can you make soup out of that Brahmin steak I have in my pack?" she asked hopefully, almost imagining the rich aroma of the rich _sopas_ that Raul made whenever they came across traders and could by some spices._

_ Unfortunately for Consuela's stomach, Arcade was no Raul. He was an indoors type of person, not a wastelander accustomed to making food out on the road as the occasion called for it. He decided to try for her benefit, though._

_"Nope," he said cheerily, "but I do know how to make a mean sandwich. Without bread or extras. So it's just meat, really, but it's quite tasty."_

_"Sounds like a plan, my man," she laughed, stepping into the pants he had given her, "just make sure you don't burn it again."_

_"Hey, how was I supposed to know that we were going to be attacked by a pack of mole rats in the middle of dinner?"_

Shaking her head to rid herself of the memory, Consuela focused in on the article once again. She scanned the article quickly for information about the assailants. Nothing specific; there was only a mention of a local gang that had been acting up. Another thing caught her eye. All of the victims had been women. She felt sick.

"_Oye,_" she said, drawing Raul's attention, "I'm not feeling up to working the counter today, can you handle it?"

Raul huffed and puffed, saying this and that about how even though she was the infamous Courier Six she needed to learn some respect for her elders. After a bit of cajoling, however, she managed to get him to agree. That was how their day began; her working menial tasks like fixing a gun that some momma's boy hadn't taken care of properly, him trying to be polite to those new customers who were drawn back at having to deal with a ghoul. There were always those who thought it would be funny to rile him up (they usually ended up at the end of Raul's revolver that he always kept on his hip specifically for those kinds of situations). That's why she usually dealt with the riff raff. It was the least she could do, she figured.

On good days, dealing with the drunks and the fans that came in just to get a look at her was a breeze. She had always been good at getting out of sticky situations. That day, however, she was feeling particularly out of sorts, due to the article and the long night of no sleep and high humidity (she hated humidity as much as she hated radroaches). In her mind, that explained why she reacted the way she did when her first customer of the day just happened to be Johnny the Wanderer. They didn't call him the wanderer because he traveled a lot, either. Let's just say it had something to do with a little incident at the Atomic Wrangler, involving his hands and, like, _everyone_.

" 'Suela, baby, it's been too long," he said, making his way to the counter. She had to bite back a groan of disgust.

"Get out of here before I make you leave, _cabrón_," she hedged, hand twitching at her hip where she kept her own revolver. _The customer_, Raul had said when giving it to her, _may always be right. But that doesn't mean we can't be wrong._

She had taken his words to heart, and though she was usually polite to Johnny up until the point he tried to invade her three feet of personal space, she was feeling a bit trigger-happy that day. She told him so.

"Hey, doll, don't get your loomies in a twist, I'm just here for some good conversation," he smirked in what she was sure he thought was a handsome way (in reality, it made his small eyes seem smaller and his too-pointy chin seem like the edge of a table).

"Well, I'm here to make money, and you're not here to spend any, so if you would kindly go fuck yourself, that would be great."

He was about to say something that would make her even angrier (she could tell because his grin widened and made his face even less appealing, if that was physically possible), so she decided to take some affirmative action and throw him out.

"Tell you what, I'll give you until the count of three to get your ass out of here," she said, cocking her gun, "How's that sound?"

He hightailed it back to the Wrangler before she even fired a warning shot (which she usually did at the count of two, just to make sure everything was in order for asswhooping time). She only had a couple of NCR soldiers drop by to repair their own weapons before one of her favorite customers decided to drop by. She was scouring the article again when he came in, humming some song off the radio.

"How's my favorite courier today?" asked Vargas, ruffling her steadily-growing mop of hair (it was nearly past her shoulder blades by then). She looked up, smiling a bit despite herself. She lightly punched his shoulder as she tried to flatten it down again.

"Honestly, I've been better," she admitted, "but it looks like my day just got a lot better! It's nice to see you again."

"Likewise, squirt. Hey, you wanna go grab something to eat? I just got paid," he singsonged. She giggled, checking the watch Raul had given her as a rebirthday present (he decided that since they didn't know her birthday that they should at least celebrate the day she was pulled out of the grave, hence "rebirth"). He said that he'd found it in a pile of scrap metal once day, and had somehow got it to work again. She hardly ever took it off.

"Yeah, lemme just tell Raul and I'm all free."

Two hours later found them in the Tops sipping on a couple of Nukas while they waited on their food. As she took a swing of the ice-cold drink, Manny told her all about what was happening with 1st Recon. After fighting off the Legion (with the help of the Bright Brotherhood), he'd realized that Novac didn't need him anymore, and he didn't need Novac. Not knowing what else to do, he had re-enlisted. One day on leave, he had stumbled upon the shop, and he had kept coming back ever since. She had been surprised at first, since Manny had seemed kind of rude and off-putting at first (mostly because of the way he reacted to Carla's death), but she had come to realize through all the tales he'd told her of Carla and from what she had put together herself that she had been kind of a bitch. She didn't blame him for it anymore. She recognized the look he got on his face whenever he asked for news about Boone.

"Hey, _cabrita, _you're miles away," he said, suddenly, bringing her back to earth, "You gonna tell me what's wrong, or are you going to listen to me go on about what Betsy said last week?"

"Sorry, this is just kind of one of those days," she said, grinning apologetically, "And Betsy kicks shitloads of ass, so I don't mind, really."

They talked about his news for a while longer, then. It was nice to know how everyone from 1st recon was doing. Betsy was back to her old shenanigans, and 10 of Spades (finally Jack of Spades) was finally starting to hold his own. Time flew, and it was nearly three by the time she realized that her lunch break had been over for a while. Manny offered to walk her back, and she accepted gladly. She wasn't looking forward to spending the last four hours of store watching alone, so having an excuse to slow down on her way sounded good to her.

"Has he been back yet?" Manny asked abruptly, cutting her off in the middle of a sentence when they were in sight of the shop. Her voice died immediately, and she took a moment before shaking her head. Manny sighed, passing a hand over his face. He looked older than when she had last seen him. That's how most people aged in the wasteland, though.

"Tough luck, kid," they had reached the door, and he opened it for her, "don't get your hopes up, either. That's how ol' Booney operates."

She giggled at the nickname and gave him a crooked smile. She couldn't disagree with him. She suspected that even before Carla's death, he had been a loner. Carla might have done something about it, but it was probably too late to effect any great changes. Some hurts run too deep.

"Take care of yourself," he said as she walked inside, "And get out of the house more often, because _madre de dios_ are your social skills are rusty."

"Tell it to someone who cares, Vargas," she said, rolling her eyes with a grin. She took his words to heart, though. She really wasn't going outside that often, besides running errands for Raul on occasion. Never really had a reason to. Looking down at the newspaper that still lay where she had left it on the counter, however, she realized that she might have found one.

* * *

**AN:**

**Firstly, here's the translation:**

**Mija - my daughter, slang**

**Viejo - old man, slightly rude**

**Oye - hey; listen**

**Cabrón - asshole**

**Cabrita - twerp; little kid; brat**

**Madre de dios - mother of god**

**Probably imperfect because Spanish isn't my second language, but it's a pretty good approximation. So how are you guys liking Consuela? She's just getting used to being written right now, but I have a feeling that she's going to be quite the character. Also, Johnny the Wanderer was made up by me just for the kicks and giggles I get out of torturing Consuela. ^.^ Manny makes me cry, tbh. I can feel how much he cares about Boone. Consuela too. I kind of ship them a little bit, though (don't tell them, though, they'd get angry at me ;A;). Again, thank you for putting up with my nonsense, and I hope to hear from you soon!**

**-Miriflowers**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Dazed and Confused

Disclaimer: All people, places, things, and other nouns that are not of my own creation belong to Bethesda and Obsidian Entertainment. None of the songs are mine, either.

"We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided." – Dumbledore in GoF

* * *

Consuela didn't have much trouble packing. All she had to do was dig up her old pack from underneath her mattress (she always kept it ready to go, just in case) and stick in some extra food, taking care to leave Raul's noodles alone. The man went apeshit over those things. It was only when she was slipping into her set of reinforced combat armor (she wanted to pass under the radar, so she was leaving all faction armor behind) that she incurred her first problem of the journey.

Her butt wouldn't fit. It just wouldn't fit into her armor, no matter how much she squeezed. Huffing, puffing and cussing like a Fiend, she managed to wiggle herself into the armor eventually, but there was no denying that it was a tight fit. It was going to be a long trip.

She felt guilty as she slipped out of Tejada Repairs that night. She'd left a note because she didn't feel up to facing him. It almost felt like she was a teenager sneaking out to meet her boyfriend. Everything felt wrong, but she knew that if she didn't go, she would regret it. It wasn't like she was going to be gone forever, either. She'd be back before the month was out, since it wasn't too far to the outpost that had been hit. Still, as she walked out into the muggy New Vegas air, she couldn't help but look up at Raul's window. His light was still on. Probably up late reading again.

She forced herself to walk away, every step becoming easier than the last. It wasn't long until the lights of the city began to fade behind her. She turned on Radio New Vegas to keep her company, and found herself humming as she walked. It wasn't long until she came across some trouble, though. With her luck, it wasn't any surprise that the first thing she came across was a deathclaw.

It was a relatively quick battle. She was walking, and then all of the sudden she heard the monster approaching and she was firing her Q-35 like she had never spent a day out of action. As it neared, she had the presence of mind to pull a frag grenade from her belt and, ripping out the pin with her teeth, she hit her mark. Unfortunately, since the grenade had blown when the deathclaw had passed it slightly, it was propelled forwards at an even more accelerated speed until it was upon her.

"_Pinche cabron_," she yelled, barely catching the deathclaw's blow from reaching her face with an arm.

It felt like her arm was going to explode, and she dropped her Q-35, but managed to get to the machete that hung by her side. She stabbed the deathclaw near where its heart should have been, and she felt the pressure on her arm dissipate as the abomination fell to the cracked ground with a resounding thud.

Consuela fell to her knees, cradling her arm and trying not to look at it. She missed home already. Nevertheless, she sucked it up and brought out the doctor's bag she had packed for the trip. She winced as she sterilized the wound. Luckily she didn't have to lace it together, however, or she would need more med-X than she had packed. After a while of listening to the radio and looking at the stars while waiting for her arm to feel better, she finished and decided to get a move on.

Nothing else bothered her that night, but as the sun began to rise, she began to feel the effects of not sleeping the night before. She found a convenient bridge to sleep under not too far along, and popped her tent. She quickly snuggled into her sleeping bag, leaving it open so that she wouldn't overheat during the few hours that she would be out. And so, clutching her trusty Q-35 to her chest, she fell into asleep.

_"Hey."_

_ No answer came from the sniper; he merely took another sip of whiskey, not seeming to hear her. Consuela glanced behind her at the party her companions had decided to hold in honor of the NCR victory. Said party mostly consisted of Cass breaking into her Super Secret Stash and trying to get Arcade smashed enough to do something stupid, but she had learned to take what she could get while traveling the Mojave._

_"Some party, eh?" she continued, taking a seat next to Boone. He didn't show any indication of hearing her other than a slight furrowing of his brow. Even during the party, he had refused to take off his 1__st__ Recon beret. She decided to ask the question that had been weighing heavily on her mind since the night after Bitter Springs._

_"Thinking of re-enlisting?" she asked softly, keeping her eyes glued to Lily as she twirled an unwilling Raul around to one of the songs that Mr. New Vegas was playing in honor of the big night._

_ Though she was intent on the admittedly hilarious sight of the small (and very indignant) ghoul being tossed around as though he was a ragdoll, she noticed Boone's jaw clench at the edge of her vision. He took another long swig of whiskey, scowling at the taste (whiskey had always been Cass' thing, not his). Not pausing to give Courier Six his answer, he moved to exit the casino._

_"Why won't you even look me in the eye anymore?" she asked quietly, not expecting him to hear. Unfortunately for her, he did. He turned and she could feel his stare. In that moment, she truly regretted saying anything at all. She knew that it would only lead to more wounds that couldn't be healed by the use of stimpacks._

_"Cass asked me to guard her special little caravan," he said, face carefully controlled, as usual, "I don't fancy facing my old life. Too many memories. It would make me crack. She pays well, too. Might as well make a few caps selling my soul to the devil."_

_ Though she had never understood the animosity between Boone and Cass other than that it was a personality clash on a big scale, it never ceased to make her laugh. That moment was no exception. In fact, she laughed even harder than she usually would have because of Cass' Super Secret Stash. She was red faced and nearly crying by the end of her fit. To say that Boone was confused would be a big understatement._

_"Come on, she doesn't even bite or make bad puns or have bad hygiene," Consuela tried mollifying him, "Well, not anymore, at least-"_

_"Consue-"_

_"It's the thought that counts, really," continued the Courier, oblivious to Boone's efforts._

_"Consuela, I-"_

_"And the poor girl has had a hard time recently," she reasoned, the serious look on her face looking very out of place and foreign on someone as young as her._

_Boone let her ramble for a minute uninhibited. Her black mane, finally let loose, kept falling into her eyes, and she kept swiping it aside purposefully. Her eyes held that earnest sheen to them that they got when she was on one of her charity mission, as he liked to call them, and for a moment, he felt himself grinning a bit before he quickly hid it once again. No sense getting all emotional. That wasn't really his forte, so he would probably screw it up somehow, and he didn't want to leave on a sour note. He settled on what he thought was a reasonably considerate goodnight._

_"Get some sleep or you'll be too hung over to say goodbye tomorrow morning," he said, cutting off her chatter. She was surprised, giving him enough time to slip out before she kept talking._

_ The next morning, she had indeed been too hung over to say goodbye. Raul had tried to wake her, but to no avail. They needed to get an early start, so Boone only stalled for a few minutes before deciding that there would be no waking her. Sighing at the situation he had gotten himself into, he had readied himself for the trip with the mantra "It's not like she's going anywhere."_

Consuela awoke to the sound of Brahmin hooves crossing the bridge above her. Startled, she sat up, dazed and confused. After realizing that she wasn't going to be run over in a stampede, she set down her Q-35, not realizing that she had been brandishing it. It was then that she realized that she had drooled in her sleep again.

She smiled, remembering one time that Boone had been on watch first. When he had come to wake her for her shift, he had found that she had drooled on her pillow. The characteristically taciturn sniper had actually snickered at her, which had inevitably caused her to bolt up, looking like a bat out of hell with her hair in a halo of unruliness. He'd offered to let her go back to whatever good dream she had been having, which had offended her pride a bit. She'd huffed and wiped the spit off of the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her armor (which hadn't been all that comfortable, honestly) before taking his spot.

He hadn't mentioned it since, but she knew that he remembered, because since then he'd always ask her if she had slept well with that stupid little smirk. It would make her a lot madder if he was the type that smiled a lot. But she supposed that since the world didn't cut him a lot of slack that she probably should. It didn't mean that she didn't shoot glares at him like lasers when he said it though.

Shaking her head to bring herself back to the present, she began to pack up. She was on her way again before noon. She turned on the radio again after a couple of hours, not surprised to find that she was out of range of the Radio New Vegas signal. She didn't fancy listening to Mojave Music Radio, either, so she set decided to try and tune into a new one. After some fiddling, she found herself listening to Tejano music. It wasn't bad (better than that country shit they played on the Mojave station), so she let it be.

After a while, she found herself singing along. Her steps fell into the rhythm of the song, and she kicked up a bit of dust as she went. She was making fantastic time for being so out of shape. At that rate, she would reach the outpost in less than two days. The thought of that made her smile and speed up a bit.

**Earlier That Day**

Boone almost smiled as he walked inside the gates to the Strip. Almost. It had been a while since he had seen where he had first met Carla. The bad memories had finally begun to fade, leaving him with a bittersweet sense of release. He knew that he would never really be over it, but he had finally realized sometime after he had begun traveling with Cass that she wasn't coming back, no matter how many Legionnaires he shot down. Carla wasn't getting back up, and that was that.

"I heard that Raul and Consuela set up shop in Outer Vegas," Cass said, taking a swig out of her flask of whiskey, "Do you want me to meet you there later? I have some stuff to take care of before I head on over there, and I figured that I'd spare you from more boring business."

Boone shrugged, still caught up in his own memories. He was about a million miles away, and Cass knew it. Deciding to have a little mercy on the poor guy, she gave him a little push in the right direction, only grinning when he shot her a glare from behind his shades. It didn't affect her anymore, though. She had become impervious to the Glare of Doom after he had overused it during the trip. She didn't know what his problem was, sometimes. She had only been sociable and polite, going out of her way not to bug her guard, but it seemed there was no moving him. She'd given up after a while, which was a lot more comfortable for everyone involved.

Though a bit annoyed that Cass had seen fit to push him towards where she wanted him to go even on his off time, Boone decided that any place was better than hanging around his drunk employer. She was a handful, and talking to the old ghoul and that girl he took down the Legion with sounded like a nice idea. It had been quite a while. Maybe she still drooled in her sleep. He snorted softly at the thought.

Meanwhile, Raul was just waking up. Blearily reaching for his glasses, he realized that he had slept in. It didn't matter much, since no one ever came in early on Sundays (the inhabitants of New Vegas tended to drink too much on Saturday nights for anything productive to get done before 10 at the least), but he had been thinking of making something special that morning just to cheer up Consuela. She'd been distracted and distant in the past few days, and he wanted to see her smile like she used to when they were on the road.

He realized that opening the repair shop had been his wish, not hers. He just couldn't stand the thought of her being out on the road very often, especially after she had been gravely wounded during the Second Battle of Hoover Dam. That night, he swore that he would try to make the rest of her short life as happy and safe as he could. He wouldn't let her end up like his sister and her other surrogate had.

He walked down to her room to check on her, expecting to see her small, drooling form on her bed. He was understandably surprised when he found her bed made and empty. He threw open the door and his eyes instantly went to the note left on her bedside table. Snatching it up eagerly, he knew that if he still had tear ducts, he would have probably been crying. It took him a few reads to calm down.

_Dear Raul,_

_I know you're pissed, but hear me out. You always knew that I wanted to know more about my past. I think I've waited long enough to know who I really am, where I come from. I know it won't mean much right now, but I love you a lot. I don't know if I have a father, but even if I do, I'll always think of you as my real father. I gotta go now, but I'll be back in less than a month, I promise. Please don't follow me. I need to get this over with alone. Nothing personal, I just don't want to be a burden_

_Love,_

_Consuela_

_P.S. Say hi to Rex for me. He hates it when I don't visit._

After what seemed a lifetime (that was saying a lot, coming from a ghoul), Raul got up and went to go get dressed in his old Vaquero outfit. His little girl needed him, to hell with what she said. Freaking kid needed to learn respect for her elders. He was about to bust out of the door like one of those old cops looking for adventure when he realized that he didn't know where she had gone. He suddenly felt very foolish and backed away from the door hastily. Just as he backed away, however, someone knocked. He opened the door, hoping desperately that it was his little girl coming back to him, when he came face to face with Boone. Raul recoiled in surprise.

"Oh," he said, "It's you."

"Yeah," Boone raised an eyebrow, "It's me. That's one hell of a greeting, by the way. Expecting company?"

"No," Raul said a bit too quickly, causing Boone to frown, "Well, yes and no."

"You better start explaining. I don't take kindly to being lied to," suddenly, Boone paused as though realizing something, "Wait, where's the kid?"

**Later that day**

Consuela walked into town limping after having confronted not one but two more deathclaws and a cazador. The deathclaws had been bad, but pretty straightforward compared to the cazador. She hated those things more than radroaches. She had once lead Lily out on an expedition to rid the Wasteland of cazadores for good. Though they still inhabited many places in the desert, they weren't as common as they once had been. She was damn proud of herself, too. The only drawback was that she only carried one container of antivenom with her as a result. And, having already used it in battle before being stung another time, she was beginning to weaken. Quickly.

"Why is it always cazadores?" she wheezed, vision beginning to blur. She really needed to keep more antivenom on her.

"Help?" she called out to the empty town, "Please, does anyone have some antivenom that I could buy? I'm dying, please."

Another wave of pain hit her, and she suddenly found it very hard to stand. She was losing motor control. Shit. She had already lost her vision. She knew from her travels with Arcade that her hearing and short-term memory were the last to go. Instead of feeling apprehension, however, she was feeling oddly relaxed, despite the pain the poison brought. She let her mind drift, finally at peace. As she drifted into the blackness, she heard a woman's voice. Just like the one in her dreams.

* * *

**A/N:**

_**Pinche cabron - fucking asshole**_

**Consuela has a dirty mouth eheheh. But other than that, sorry for the semi-tardiness! I had this done for a while, but I didn't get around to editing and posting until now. More to come soon! Thank you guys for all your love, and I hope to see you next time!~**

**-Miriflowers**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Disclaimer: All people, places, things, and other nouns that are not of my own creation belong to Bethesda and Obsidian Entertainment. None of the songs are mine, either.

"Indifference to fate which, though it often makes a villain of a man, is the basis of his sublimity when it does not." – Thomas Hardy, "Far From the Madding Crowd"

* * *

"-And then I woke up this morning, and boom!" Raul sighed, finishing up the tale of Consuela's disappearance as Boone looked on wordlessly, "She was gone. She left the shittiest note ever, too."

"Can I see it? Did it say anything important?" asked Boone, already in detective mode.

"Just some shit about how sorry she was," Raul said, shaking his head, "If you ask me, she was just covering her ass. She pulls shit like that sometimes."

Boone said nothing, only shooting a look towards Raul before ascending the stairs to where Raul had pointed. His trained eyes scanned the shop, and he felt a twinge of remorse for being gone so long. He probably should have been looking after the girl. She was a hell of a shot with her fancy energy weapons, and she could negotiate herself out of the craziest situations, but she was the type that needed backup. Raul had done an okay job, but as far as he was concerned, the results still hadn't been pretty. He felt responsible for her, oddly.

As he reached her room, he was hit with how messy the girl had been. He remembered all the Legion camps they'd trashed together, even one of the vaults they'd stumbled across. Vault 34, was it? It was there that he'd gotten his second favorite gun, the All-American. He was still partial to his Sniper Rifle, but there were always those times when he ran out of .308 ammo. He took a step into the room and immediately spotted the note lying where Raul had left it. He read it quickly. It was as he had feared. He never should have left.

He heard Raul follow him up the stairs, and, after sparing one last glance at the bedroom (he felt an odd twinge as he spotted a dark stain on her covers from what he supposed to be her signature puddle of drool), he turned to face the older man. Boone said nothing, waiting for the ghoul to do something.

"I didn't know she wanted to find them that badly," Raul admitted, his gravelly voice sounding even more raw as he spoke, "I thought she had been happy here."

Boone believed him. Though gruff and sometimes a bit too snarky for his own good, the ghoul had lived enough to see what happened when you wrong the people you love the most. Boone had been there, too, though he had a feeling that 200 years of living with himself would be an even bigger challenge. At least he had death to look forward to.

"She probably was, otherwise she would have left earlier on," Boone said, attempting to comfort him. Raul nodded, even though Boone was sure that he didn't actually believe him. He'd tried, though. Shrugging, Boone walked into the kitchen and assessed what they would need to bring for the journey.

"Any hints as to where she could have gone to look?" he asked. He was all business, raiding the pantry and refrigerators as if he were looking for loot in an enemy stronghold. It was go time.

"We saw an article about this town with some pretty bad gang fights the other day. Some of the people found dead had tattoos like the one she has on the back of her neck. They said it was to the southeast, I think," Raul recited, beginning to make food for the road. Like Consuela, he kept his pack ready to go for occasions just like this one.

"This town got a name?" Boone asked tensely, beginning to tire of the interrogation. They were supposed to be helping each other, goddamn it. He felt like he was pulling teeth. Whatever that meant. The sniper had never been one for analogies.

Before Raul could say anything, however, he was interrupted by none other than Rose of Sharon Cassidy herself. Holding a bag of goodies over her shoulder and clutching another full of Boone's pay in her other, she looked very confused at the scene before her. Raul and Boone exchanged a look.

"I got it," Raul sighed. He proceeded to tell a very confused Cass about Consuela's departure. She had taken a seat at the small table, expression getting more grim with every twist to the Courier's tale. When Raul finished, she looked like she was at someone's funeral.

"Poor kid," she sighed, "She's always had terrible luck. I need a smoke. Hey, do you keep any whiskey in the joint?"

Raul rolled his eyes, but decided to oblige her. He'd probably need her help to make sure his little girl was okay. She took the bottle from him with a nod of thanks, then took a long swig. Raul snorted and went back to making his travel food. That girl gave Consuela a run for her money when it came to table manners. He wasn't much for pomp and circumstance (didn't graduate from high school, heh), but he usually ate using forks and knives and things like that. Cass and Consuela made do without most of the time, though. It was quite a sight, watching the two women stuff their faces like there was no tomorrow, which was likely more times than he wanted to admit. Boone usually watched in silence, as was his way, but every once in a while, Raul swore that he cracked a smile. A really small one that disappeared quickly, but a smile nonetheless.

They finished packing around dinnertime, so Raul made dinner. Afterwards, he offered to let them stay the night. Cass declined, saying that she had business at the bar (Raul thought he knew why, if he knew anything about how much of an "eager" woman Cass was), but Boone agreed. They didn't have a couch, so he ended up bunking in Consuela's room. Though Raul had offered to switch rooms just in case the thought of sleeping in a woman's room weirded him out too much (he could never tell with Boone), he had said that he would manage.

Boone took a while to get comfortable since he was longer than the bed. He didn't fancy sleeping on his side, either, so he let his be-socked feet dangle off into the thin stream of cool air issuing from the small fan that sat on Consuela's surprisingly well-organized desk. He couldn't sleep. There was too much to process, but he felt like he couldn't think with so much humidity crushing in on him. Not to mention her smell.

It was kind of weird that he remembered how Consuela smelled, considering that they never got too close. But he realized that it had followed him around for a long time, even after he had left with Cass. Maybe it was because she had offered to wash his clothes for him, since he was no good at it. Probably something in the detergent. That was it! She smelled like Abraxo. Case closed.

Boone wiggled his toes and took a sip of the last beer from his pack, pleased with his deductive abilities. Something still wasn't right, though. He knew what Abraxo smelled like, after so many times of accidentally looting some. There was something else. Maybe it was the ghoul smell? Boone had nothing against Raul or his kind, but they had a distinct odor. It was sweet at first, but underneath that thin layer there was an abyss of decay. You got used to it after working with them for a while, but it took some getting used to. He decided that it might be a bit of the ghoul smell. There was still something off, though. Maybe it was…

Suddenly, Boone's eyes shot open, and he ripped off his sunglasses to look for the stain he had seen earlier. Though he was tempted to just write it off as drool and trying not to think of anywhere else him mind was trying to take him, he decided to sniff it.

"What am I doing?" he muttered, grimacing at his own inquisitiveness, "I know mom always used to call me her stupidest kid, but _goddamn_ I was born without a brain."

He decided to go for it anyways. It was oil. Motor oil. Boone sighed, replaced his sunglasses, and went back to reclining best he could. Soon, his breathing returned to normal. The sun finally set, and he heard Raul turn off his light. Soon, his breathing slowed and his rattling snores echoed throughout the small building. Boone sat impassively, though he began to feel nostalgic for a simpler time.

Though he thought of it as a simpler time, his childhood wasn't all that simple. His father, an NCR soldier, had died in combat shortly after his tenth birthday. Since his mother was busy looking after the new baby, he'd had to put the hunting rifle his father had been teaching him how to shoot to use pretty quickly. He'd done alright by his mother, though, and when he failed, there had always been helpful neighbors. The NCR had done right by them.

Boone eventually drifted off, thinking of the old days and breathing in the weird mix of Abraxo, rotting flesh, and motor oil. As he slept, a true smile graced his face for the first time in a long time. It was truly a sight to behold, but no one saw it in the darkness of the Mojave, and so it was lost to time.

In the morning, Cass showed up just long enough to say that she wasn't coming with. She dropped off Boone's (generous) pay and left, cradling her head like a newborn. Boone had suspected that something like that would happen. He bore the news stoically, unlike Raul. The old ghoul finished their packing using the most colorful use of both Spanish and English that Boone had heard since he had stopped talking to Manny. They set off before nine without a backwards glance.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the desert, Consuela's crusted eyes slid open, a silent scream dying on her lips as she realized that she was back in the world of the living. A rag slid off of her forehead and into her lap. Someone had changed her clothes for her. She scanned the small room, assessing her situation and wondering where her pack had gotten off to. Her eyes finally came to rest on the glass of water sitting on the bedside table, and she greedily snatched it up, gulping it down like a dying man. She looked up to see a woman standing at the end of her bed. Oddly enough, she wasn't surprised by the fact that she was there, but by the fact that she knew who the strange woman was.

"How are you feeling, _cariña_?" the woman asked, walking forward to stroke her hair soothingly. Consuelo felt like she was suffocating.

"Mom?"

* * *

**A/N:**

**OH YEAH CLIFFIE! Anyways, I love writing Boone (as you may be able to tell uehuehue), and I want to do more from his POV. So get ready for some serious Boone-time pretty soon. ^^ Thank you for your continued support, you butts!**

**-Miriflowers**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: What Happens in New Vegas...

Disclaimer: All people, places, things, and other nouns that are not of my own creation belong to Bethesda and Obsidian Entertainment.

"How can we live without our lives? How will we know it's us without our past?" – John Steinbeck, "Grapes of Wrath"

* * *

The woman slapped Consuela upside the head. Intensely confused, but a little bit relieved, she listened intently as the aging woman began to rant loudly in heavily accented Spanish.

"_Mija_, why are you speaking in English?" she chided, "You know I don't understand any of it."

"I know," Consuela whined, rubbing the back of her head and sending the older woman a mutinous glare, "But I don't know who you are."

The woman looked affronted and continued her verbal assault on the younger woman. At one point, she took off her one of her _chanclas_ and started brandishing it like a club. Consuela tried to reason with her, but the woman looked like she was at her wit's end. She finally managed to get in a word edgewise, and out came the story. The woman sat down heavily, looking very lost all of the sudden.

"Why didn't you just say so, then?" she said more gently, taking one of Consuela's hands in her own and tracing one of her oldest scars with the air of practiced ease that comes with familiarity and closeness. Consuela felt her heart ache for the woman, though she did not know her. She had only made a wild guess when the woman had stepped in the room, hoping that she was her mother. Talking to her seemed natural, though, like she could spill her darkest secrets and deepest fears without surprising the woman because she had a feeling that she already knew them. It felt like she had stepped into her favorite pair of socks, well-worn and well-loved.

"Can you tell me who I am?" Consuela asked, after letting the woman calm down a bit more. The woman nodded slowly once, then again more decisively.

"Yes," the woman said, taking in a shaky breath before her bravado came back to her all at once, "I know that much, at least."

Consuela smiled. She liked the woman already. She wasn't sure if it was from muscle memory or newfound affection or a strange combination of both, but she liked her. As the woman began her story, she listened intently and unflinchingly. She had a feeling she was home.

"Your parents, Ernesto Molinero and Reina de la Cal were both born in old Mexico before their tribes moved up here to see if they could get in on any of the Vault loot they had heard about. They couldn't get into one, though. So, the two tribes decided to team up, since life in the Mojave was too hard to survive separately. Since your parents were the oldest children of the Tribe leaders, they were married in order to make sure the alliance would last. It wasn't long after that the Tribe leaders, your _abuelos_, went off on a hunting trip and never came back. Your parents took over, and that was that.

"After a while, they had you, your older sister, Concha, and your younger brother, Gregorio. That's when things got really bad. After your parents took over and even beforehand, we'd been having problems with some guerrilla fighters after moving into their territory. We lost a lot of good people, your father's best friend included. When we finally managed to catch one of them, he was half mad with grief. It turns out that they were mostly women and children, though, with only a few _viejos _and no men. Your mother wanted to take them in, but your father would have none of it. So, the night before he was going to execute the poor woman they had caught, your mom grabbed what supplies she could, and tried to make a run for it with your siblings and you. The only time she stopped to free the girl, and that was when your father caught up to you."

The woman, whom Consuela suddenly remembered as Marta, paused, giving her enough time to realize that the previously indestructible wall between her memories and the rest of her brain was nearly gone. She felt different, then, as though she were seeing the world for the first time. She supposed that in a way, she was, since she had become a hybrid between her two pasts. Her memories told the story of two different girls with two different personalities, and they were suddenly both warring for dominance. She barely heard what Marta said next as her inner battle raged, and her vision swam in and out like the tides.

"You were left behind," Marta said gently, stroking Consuela's hair, "Your mother tried to come back for you once it was all over with, _mija_, but he wouldn't give you back. So, your mother became the leader of those guerrilla fighters, while your dad was left in charge of the old tribe. You got to sneak out and visit every once in a while, but-"

"I know," Consuela whispered, hazy vision beginning to clear before it was once again muddled by accumulating tears, "I remember."

While the two women were lost in a world made entirely out of memories, Raul was having a hissy fit. Boone, having put up with enough of his whining during the course of the long trip, was almost ready to tell the old ghoul where he could shove his worries (they were out looking for the savior of the wastes herself, for chrissakes), when he spotted a city through his scope. He held up a hand to silence Raul, which worked (much to Boone's delight).

"Town up ahead," he explained bluntly when the mechanic asked for an explanation, "have to keep quiet if we want to get the drop on whatever's there."

The two travelers crawled their way onto a nearby mesa where Boone continued to watch the silent city through his scope. For once, Raul kept his wisecracks to himself. They waited about ten minutes before Boone decided to go check out one of the nearby buildings. It was set a little ways away from the rest of the city, so he decided that it would be the safest alternative to busting into the town square and asking if anyone had seen a woman passing through recently. He left Raul with a pistol and instructions where to meet up, should they get separated somehow. The ghoul swallowed his reluctance, and for that, at least, Boone was grateful.

The sense of calm that overcame him when he was out of the old man's sight, however, did not last long. As he tried the back door, he realized that the lock had been broken long ago. Though it was good news in that it meant that he didn't have to try his hand at picking the lock (which he was admittedly complete shit at), it meant that someone had already been in there. He hoped that it had only been looters.

Inside, the air was dense, and dust had settled in a sort of haze around the room's empty shelves. Boone tried to muffle a cough into his arm. There was a tense moment in which he wondered not for the first time if he was alone in the shop. Pushing his way out of the back room, he moved swiftly, checking the front portion of the shop with care. The shelves that had once held numerous cans, boxes, and bags of food lay bare. He checked the perimeter once more for good measure. There was not a soul in the place. He decided that it had been looters after all.

By the time he got back to Raul, it was past noon, and the worst part of the day had set in. They decided to check the rest of the town together. If it had not been for Raul's insistence that it was the area where the dead women had been found, Boone would have moved on after the first few empty buildings. They had nearly covered the entire town by nightfall, so they decided to camp out on the second floor of the furthermost store, the first one that Boone had searched. Since he decided that he needed some time to think, Boone took the first watch while Raul, who was exhausted after the day of traveling (which Boone was accustomed to after his time on the road with Cass), passed out on the makeshift cot he had brought with him.

Boone lasted a full five hours of watching the tumbleweed roll through the dark town before he decided that the coast was clear enough to put the old man on watch. Raul looked so frazzled by being woken up that Boone had to chuckle as he snuggled into his bedroll. In a manly way, of course. It was cold that night, and since all of the windows on the second floor had ceased to exist a long time before either he or Raul had set eyes on the place, it seemed even colder than it actually was. He allowed himself a manly snuggle every once in a while to keep him warm. He was asleep within minutes, dreaming of happier days when things like tumbleweed wouldn't make him feel so goddamn lonely, and he still had someone to come home to. He dreamed about Carla for the first time in a long time.

_"You gonna buy me a drink or not, big guy?"_

_ Boone blinked at the woman in front of him. She was smiling the way she did every time she talked to one of the new NCR boys on his first leave, loaded with a paycheck that he didn't know how to handle until he woke up the next day and saw that his hard-earned paycheck was gone. Boone had been one of those boys, though she had thought that he had been a bit more gentlemanly than the others, and he had thought that she was a bit more of a lady than she actually was. He hadn't even been mad when he woke up the morning afterwards in The Tops casino with a raging hangover._

_Carla had been a prostitute. She used to be more of a waitress, really, but when she stopped getting letters from her family back west (the ones with just enough cash to make it easier to make ends meet), she decided that there wasn't much more she could do besides work herself into an early grave as a courier or a merc. She wasn't much good with a gun, so it made sense to her to try to make it as a whore. When Boone had (stoically) stumbled his way into her sorry excuse for an existence, however, she had taken it as a sign from god that her trial was over. She hadn't been much of a religious type, either, it just sounded nicer than saying that she took the first chance to get out of New Vegas that she got. Boone had known deep down, but he hadn't cared._

_"At least dance with me," she smiled, green eyes twinkling with just enough joy to get Boone out of his chair and onto the dance floor. Neither of them were that great at dancing, but it was a fast song. They managed to avoid each other's toes and most of the other dancers. By the end of the song, they were both out of breath and smiling like fools._

_ As they hobbled over to the bar, Carla peeling off her heels while Boone supported her so that she wouldn't lose her balance and fall, a slower song started to play. Boone looked cautiously at the woman beside him, but she shook her head. He let out a small sigh of relief in lieu of a reply. They didn't talk very much. Boone eventually bought her a drink and ended up spilling his entire life story. He tried to apologize afterwards, but she didn't let him. She told him about her family and the small town she had escaped when she was eighteen, and her pet goat, Frankie, and the checks that had stopped coming and how some nights she wondered why she kept living at all. He was kissing her before either of them knew what was going on, and the rest was history. But as Boone watched the New Vegas lights out of their room's window that night, watching Carla's back as she slept while he waited for sleep to overtake him, he felt something that he hadn't felt since his father hadn't come home back in the NCR. He felt whole._

When he woke up, groggy and disoriented and more than a little raw from his dream, Boone found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. As he slowly became aware of his surroundings, he took an inventory of what had happened, and quickly came to the conclusion that Raul had fallen asleep on watch, and they were now being held hostage by whoever had looted the stores all across town.

"Have a nice dream, soldier boy?" the woman behind the barrel of the gun asked briskly, ignoring Raul's muffled grunts as he was gagged and bound, "You and Miguel over here have some 'splaining to do. You're coming with us."

"His name's not Miguel," Boone grunted, hoping to get off to a good start, "He found the jumpsuit. His name is Raul and mine is Craig."

"Like I give a fuck. Now move your white ass before the Chupas fill it full of bullets."

* * *

**AN:**

_**Mija - My daughter**_

_**Chanclas - Hardcore Mexican sandals that hurt like hell when used as a punishment**_

_**Abuelos - Grandparents**_

_**Viejos - Old guys**_

**Oh yes I did. Nyeheheh, I love cliffhangers so much it physically pains me. But that's beside the point. I owe you all an apology for being an asshole and not updating. Life just got lifey and inspiration was running thin. I'm back in the game, though. c: Thank you all for sticking with me, and many thanks for reading!**

**-Miriflowers**


End file.
